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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Crime
- Published: 05/28/2022
THE BODY OF EVIDENCE
Born 1943, M, from San Jose, United StatesThe Body of Evidence
As the commuter train slowly pulled out of Ferrin Station and began its trip uptown, a young man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, approached the elderly man four seats up from him. When he got to the old man’s seat, he paused a moment, then made a polite throat clearing sound.
“Ahem, excuse me. You are Doctor Mitchell aren’t you?” he asked.
The seated man looked up and very casually answered, “yes. Do I know you?”
“No, sir. You knew my father though. You saved his life. My name is Gordon. Gordon Black. You attended to my father for a shotgun blast to his stomach.”
Doctor Mitchell looked at the young man as he sat himself across the aisle from the doctor. In a somewhat surprised tone, he asked, “your father is Simon Black? How is he doing these days? Good God, I did that operation almost fifteen years ago. I hope he is doing well.”
The young man held his head down and slowly said, “No, I’m afraid that dad died three years ago. Believe it or not… it was another hunting accident, or so they say. Only this time the bullet caught his head. I’ve always had my
doubts about it though. There was no chance to save him. If you’ll excuse me doc, I need to tell you something very important, so I Will skip the details of my father’s accident. His face took on a somber look as he continued:
“Because you are the State’s Chief Medical Examiner, in two days you are going to receive a body for autopsy. The Cole City Sheriff, where the body is coming from, has asked that you perform the necessary autopsy. The body in question was murdered by Cole City’s meanest man in the entire valley. The Sheriff knows he did it. The prosecutor knows he did it. Just about everybody in town knows he is guilty. The problem is that they can’t find a mark on the body to show that Big Jim Crocker did the killing.” He waited to see any reaction by the doctor.
Doctor Mitchell searched the young man’s face for any telltale signs of possible deception. ‘One could never be too careful riding these trains.’ He thought to himself. Satisfied that the man was serious, he asked, “What, exactly are you telling me? Doesn’t your medical examiner know how to perform his duties? I don’t understand what is happening here. How is it that you can come to me, yet no one from Cole city or the County has contacted me? Are you with the Sheriff’s department or the County? Just what does all this have to do with you coming here to Warrenville?”
The young man leaned over into the aisle as not to talk loudly over the noise of the train. He spoke softly, but clearly enough for the doctor to hear every word said. “In some ways, yes, I am connected to the Sheriff’s Department. I used to help out in the coroner’s office. I used to watch our medical examiner do his job. The problem we have here Doc, is our examiner is about ten years past retirement. He can barely see anymore. He has arthritis that could bring down a horse. He is still the examiner for about nine more months, then he is retired whether he wants it or not. His brother, who happens to be the Mayor, will be termed out of office by then. He Will no longer be able to protect the examiner. By the way… you know the examiner. It’s Phil Luck.”
“Phil Luck?” Doc Mitchell almost yelled out the name in astonishment. “You must be joking? Is this a set up for some big joke? Are you taping this?” He quickly looked around, trying to spot the camera.
“This is no joke, Doc. Phil Luck is the man we’re talking about.”
Still not sure of what was going on, the doctor kept looking around for anything suspicious. He looked to the man and said, “Phil Luck should have retired ten years ago. He’s almost thirty years older than me and I’m retiring in two years. There are a lot of fish out there just waiting for me to feed them.” He chuckled. Becoming serious again, he went on, “Now I can see why the Sheriff wants us at State, to look into the case. I apologize young man. Needless to say, you sort of caught me off-guard with this story.”
Young Gordon Black smiled at the man and continued with the information he had to give to Doc Mitchell. “You see, Doc, I know how the man died. I know when and where it happened. I really can’t go into it, but I had to see you instead of telling the Sheriff. Again, without going into it, let me say that going to the law or anyone else except you would be a fruitless venture. Shall I go on, or do you feel a need to call someone over and have me removed?”
“I’m sorry young man. You have me at a loss. I remember treating your father, but that was a long time ago. What is it that you want from me? From what you’re saying, I have to believe that you have all the answers you need. What am I suppose to do? If you know how he died then you should have told the… . Why can’t you tell anyone else? If they won’t believe you. Then why should I?” The doctor was beginning to feel strangely ill listening to the young man tell his story. “How is it that you know, but can’t say who or why, about the poor soul’s death?”
Gordon Black looked around as if to see someone or something he wanted to avoid. “Look, Doc, I only have a few minutes left here. I need to know that you are going to do as I as I suggest when you get the body.”
Doc Mitchell’s professional sense of awareness told him he should listen to what Gordon was attempting to tell him. “Go on, son. If you know what I need to do, then say so.”
The man smiled a full face-expanding smile and told the doctor what he must do. “When you receive the body, take a very close look in the left ear. You Will see a very small hole in the eardrum. Big Jim Crocker used a hot thin ice pick to do the job. The heated pick quickly sealed the wound. It will almost look like a rupture than an actual hole. I do know that he put some sort of poison on the pick’s tip. The dead man had been lying in bed when Crocker did his thing. He then dressed the man and dropped him off in the seedy part of town so people would think he was some unknown homeless guy. Although the dead man lived in Cole city, he wasn’t well known. Not to take chances though, Big Jim poured sulfuric acid on the man’s hands and face. What fingerprints they may salvage are going to be needed for identification. That is what Big Jim was counting on. He’s sure no one could connect him to the killing. Just think, Doc, a man died over a lousy hundred bucks. Go figure.”
The doctor had been listening to Gordon so intently that he almost missed his stop. As the train slowed for the station, he quickly asked him if there was any hard proof that Big Jim did the killing.
As the train stopped, Gordon Black said one final thing to Doc Mitchell. “When he dressed the corpse his hand rested on the belt buckle of his victim. He left a thumbprint on the buckle. That should be all that is needed. Now, if you’ll excuse me Doc, I really need to leave.” He turned and before Doc Mitchell could say anything, the man had left the train.
Doc Mitchell’s long hours in the medical examiner’s office dragged on. The thoughts of the young man he met on the train ran through his mind all day. He just wanted the day to end so he could go home and enjoy a peaceful evening. For some reason he had mixed emotions about what to expect in two days. Those days passed quickly.
When Doc Mitchell arrived for work that day, a deputy sheriff was standing guard over a sheet-covered body. As the doc entered the autopsy room, the deputy asked, “Are you Doctor Mitchell?”
“Yes, I am,” he answered as he approached the table. “Is this the body from Cole City?”
“Yes sir, I was told to stay here until I turned the body over to you personally. He looked around the room and asked, “do you ever get use to what goes on in here. I get the creeps just being in here.”
The doctor looked at the pale-colored deputy and said, “Only if they don’t sit up in the middle of everything.”
The deputy put his hand to his mouth, but held back from spilling his breakfast.
The doctor felt bad for his joke. “I’m sorry, son. That was just medical humor. I’m sorry to say that yes, we do get use to it. But, it's better that we do. We can’t do our job if we have feelings for the deceased.
The deputy made a hasty step toward the exit, saying over his shoulder, “Nothing personal Doc, I hope I don’t see you again.”
“Same here, son,” he softly answered as he turned to his work.
With the conversation on the train that night running in his head, he pulled back the sheet and gasped. His years of experience in having to deal with the dead should have calloused his feelings long ago, but the sight of this acid burned human being turned his stomach. He stepped back to regain his composure. Before starting his examination… especially the left ear. He took the necessary fingerprints in order to help identify the victim. With the print card complete, he called for an assistant to undress the body and set the clothes on the auxiliary table behind them. He handed the assistant the print card and the belt with instructions to take them to the forensics lab.
Doc Mitchell reached for the scalpel to begin his internal inspection when he paused, then said to himself, “I may as well check the ear first. Who knows?” He pointed the flashlight’s beam into the left ear and searched for this puncture wound Gordon Black had told him to look for. Slowly he waved the light back and forth with no visible results. On his third pass in the small canal a dark speck caught his eye. He quickly reached for the lighted
magnifying glass with the narrow tip. When he saw the mark, he let out a loud “by damn!”
Various thoughts began to run in his mind. ‘The mark is there, but how did Gordon Black know about it if he didn’t kill this man to frame Big Jim Crocker. Maybe he blames Big Jim for his father’s death.’ His deep thoughts were interrupted by his assistant returning from the lab with the fingerprint results.
Before his assistant could say a word, the doctor beamed a smile at him and said, “By God he was right about the ear.” From the look on his assistant’s face he realized the poor soul had no idea of what he was talking about. He decided to tell him about the conversation on the train with Gordon Black. When he finished his report, he asked the man why he looked so peaked.
The assistant sucked in some air and braced himself as he explained the report in his hand. “Uh, I have the police report on the fingerprints on the belt-buckle. They belong to someone named Jim Crocker.”
“Yes!” Doc Mitchell said excitedly. “That would be Big Jim Crocker. He’s the one Gordon said was the one who killed this man three days ago. By the way, what about the prints for this man on the table?”
“Well,” said the assistant, “there seems to be a big mistake here. I took the prints to the lab as you directed. I waited for them and watched every move they made in there. Now… .”
“What is it?” The Doc was getting impatient. “Why are you sounding so doubtful about the lab? Did they get the prints mixed up with someone else? Speak up man.”
“Sorry, sir. It’s just that… well, it couldn’t have been Gordon Black that you talked to that night. The fingerprints I have here belong to Gordon Black, the man on the table. Doctor? Is something wrong?"
THE BODY OF EVIDENCE(Louis M. Serra)
The Body of Evidence
As the commuter train slowly pulled out of Ferrin Station and began its trip uptown, a young man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, approached the elderly man four seats up from him. When he got to the old man’s seat, he paused a moment, then made a polite throat clearing sound.
“Ahem, excuse me. You are Doctor Mitchell aren’t you?” he asked.
The seated man looked up and very casually answered, “yes. Do I know you?”
“No, sir. You knew my father though. You saved his life. My name is Gordon. Gordon Black. You attended to my father for a shotgun blast to his stomach.”
Doctor Mitchell looked at the young man as he sat himself across the aisle from the doctor. In a somewhat surprised tone, he asked, “your father is Simon Black? How is he doing these days? Good God, I did that operation almost fifteen years ago. I hope he is doing well.”
The young man held his head down and slowly said, “No, I’m afraid that dad died three years ago. Believe it or not… it was another hunting accident, or so they say. Only this time the bullet caught his head. I’ve always had my
doubts about it though. There was no chance to save him. If you’ll excuse me doc, I need to tell you something very important, so I Will skip the details of my father’s accident. His face took on a somber look as he continued:
“Because you are the State’s Chief Medical Examiner, in two days you are going to receive a body for autopsy. The Cole City Sheriff, where the body is coming from, has asked that you perform the necessary autopsy. The body in question was murdered by Cole City’s meanest man in the entire valley. The Sheriff knows he did it. The prosecutor knows he did it. Just about everybody in town knows he is guilty. The problem is that they can’t find a mark on the body to show that Big Jim Crocker did the killing.” He waited to see any reaction by the doctor.
Doctor Mitchell searched the young man’s face for any telltale signs of possible deception. ‘One could never be too careful riding these trains.’ He thought to himself. Satisfied that the man was serious, he asked, “What, exactly are you telling me? Doesn’t your medical examiner know how to perform his duties? I don’t understand what is happening here. How is it that you can come to me, yet no one from Cole city or the County has contacted me? Are you with the Sheriff’s department or the County? Just what does all this have to do with you coming here to Warrenville?”
The young man leaned over into the aisle as not to talk loudly over the noise of the train. He spoke softly, but clearly enough for the doctor to hear every word said. “In some ways, yes, I am connected to the Sheriff’s Department. I used to help out in the coroner’s office. I used to watch our medical examiner do his job. The problem we have here Doc, is our examiner is about ten years past retirement. He can barely see anymore. He has arthritis that could bring down a horse. He is still the examiner for about nine more months, then he is retired whether he wants it or not. His brother, who happens to be the Mayor, will be termed out of office by then. He Will no longer be able to protect the examiner. By the way… you know the examiner. It’s Phil Luck.”
“Phil Luck?” Doc Mitchell almost yelled out the name in astonishment. “You must be joking? Is this a set up for some big joke? Are you taping this?” He quickly looked around, trying to spot the camera.
“This is no joke, Doc. Phil Luck is the man we’re talking about.”
Still not sure of what was going on, the doctor kept looking around for anything suspicious. He looked to the man and said, “Phil Luck should have retired ten years ago. He’s almost thirty years older than me and I’m retiring in two years. There are a lot of fish out there just waiting for me to feed them.” He chuckled. Becoming serious again, he went on, “Now I can see why the Sheriff wants us at State, to look into the case. I apologize young man. Needless to say, you sort of caught me off-guard with this story.”
Young Gordon Black smiled at the man and continued with the information he had to give to Doc Mitchell. “You see, Doc, I know how the man died. I know when and where it happened. I really can’t go into it, but I had to see you instead of telling the Sheriff. Again, without going into it, let me say that going to the law or anyone else except you would be a fruitless venture. Shall I go on, or do you feel a need to call someone over and have me removed?”
“I’m sorry young man. You have me at a loss. I remember treating your father, but that was a long time ago. What is it that you want from me? From what you’re saying, I have to believe that you have all the answers you need. What am I suppose to do? If you know how he died then you should have told the… . Why can’t you tell anyone else? If they won’t believe you. Then why should I?” The doctor was beginning to feel strangely ill listening to the young man tell his story. “How is it that you know, but can’t say who or why, about the poor soul’s death?”
Gordon Black looked around as if to see someone or something he wanted to avoid. “Look, Doc, I only have a few minutes left here. I need to know that you are going to do as I as I suggest when you get the body.”
Doc Mitchell’s professional sense of awareness told him he should listen to what Gordon was attempting to tell him. “Go on, son. If you know what I need to do, then say so.”
The man smiled a full face-expanding smile and told the doctor what he must do. “When you receive the body, take a very close look in the left ear. You Will see a very small hole in the eardrum. Big Jim Crocker used a hot thin ice pick to do the job. The heated pick quickly sealed the wound. It will almost look like a rupture than an actual hole. I do know that he put some sort of poison on the pick’s tip. The dead man had been lying in bed when Crocker did his thing. He then dressed the man and dropped him off in the seedy part of town so people would think he was some unknown homeless guy. Although the dead man lived in Cole city, he wasn’t well known. Not to take chances though, Big Jim poured sulfuric acid on the man’s hands and face. What fingerprints they may salvage are going to be needed for identification. That is what Big Jim was counting on. He’s sure no one could connect him to the killing. Just think, Doc, a man died over a lousy hundred bucks. Go figure.”
The doctor had been listening to Gordon so intently that he almost missed his stop. As the train slowed for the station, he quickly asked him if there was any hard proof that Big Jim did the killing.
As the train stopped, Gordon Black said one final thing to Doc Mitchell. “When he dressed the corpse his hand rested on the belt buckle of his victim. He left a thumbprint on the buckle. That should be all that is needed. Now, if you’ll excuse me Doc, I really need to leave.” He turned and before Doc Mitchell could say anything, the man had left the train.
Doc Mitchell’s long hours in the medical examiner’s office dragged on. The thoughts of the young man he met on the train ran through his mind all day. He just wanted the day to end so he could go home and enjoy a peaceful evening. For some reason he had mixed emotions about what to expect in two days. Those days passed quickly.
When Doc Mitchell arrived for work that day, a deputy sheriff was standing guard over a sheet-covered body. As the doc entered the autopsy room, the deputy asked, “Are you Doctor Mitchell?”
“Yes, I am,” he answered as he approached the table. “Is this the body from Cole City?”
“Yes sir, I was told to stay here until I turned the body over to you personally. He looked around the room and asked, “do you ever get use to what goes on in here. I get the creeps just being in here.”
The doctor looked at the pale-colored deputy and said, “Only if they don’t sit up in the middle of everything.”
The deputy put his hand to his mouth, but held back from spilling his breakfast.
The doctor felt bad for his joke. “I’m sorry, son. That was just medical humor. I’m sorry to say that yes, we do get use to it. But, it's better that we do. We can’t do our job if we have feelings for the deceased.
The deputy made a hasty step toward the exit, saying over his shoulder, “Nothing personal Doc, I hope I don’t see you again.”
“Same here, son,” he softly answered as he turned to his work.
With the conversation on the train that night running in his head, he pulled back the sheet and gasped. His years of experience in having to deal with the dead should have calloused his feelings long ago, but the sight of this acid burned human being turned his stomach. He stepped back to regain his composure. Before starting his examination… especially the left ear. He took the necessary fingerprints in order to help identify the victim. With the print card complete, he called for an assistant to undress the body and set the clothes on the auxiliary table behind them. He handed the assistant the print card and the belt with instructions to take them to the forensics lab.
Doc Mitchell reached for the scalpel to begin his internal inspection when he paused, then said to himself, “I may as well check the ear first. Who knows?” He pointed the flashlight’s beam into the left ear and searched for this puncture wound Gordon Black had told him to look for. Slowly he waved the light back and forth with no visible results. On his third pass in the small canal a dark speck caught his eye. He quickly reached for the lighted
magnifying glass with the narrow tip. When he saw the mark, he let out a loud “by damn!”
Various thoughts began to run in his mind. ‘The mark is there, but how did Gordon Black know about it if he didn’t kill this man to frame Big Jim Crocker. Maybe he blames Big Jim for his father’s death.’ His deep thoughts were interrupted by his assistant returning from the lab with the fingerprint results.
Before his assistant could say a word, the doctor beamed a smile at him and said, “By God he was right about the ear.” From the look on his assistant’s face he realized the poor soul had no idea of what he was talking about. He decided to tell him about the conversation on the train with Gordon Black. When he finished his report, he asked the man why he looked so peaked.
The assistant sucked in some air and braced himself as he explained the report in his hand. “Uh, I have the police report on the fingerprints on the belt-buckle. They belong to someone named Jim Crocker.”
“Yes!” Doc Mitchell said excitedly. “That would be Big Jim Crocker. He’s the one Gordon said was the one who killed this man three days ago. By the way, what about the prints for this man on the table?”
“Well,” said the assistant, “there seems to be a big mistake here. I took the prints to the lab as you directed. I waited for them and watched every move they made in there. Now… .”
“What is it?” The Doc was getting impatient. “Why are you sounding so doubtful about the lab? Did they get the prints mixed up with someone else? Speak up man.”
“Sorry, sir. It’s just that… well, it couldn’t have been Gordon Black that you talked to that night. The fingerprints I have here belong to Gordon Black, the man on the table. Doctor? Is something wrong?"
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Lillian Kazmierczak
06/09/2022That was a great story with a big twist! Very captivating, I was caught up in it from the start.Congratulations on short story star of the day!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Shirley Smothers
06/09/2022Love the tale with a twist. I was totally engrossed with your story.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Gerald R Gioglio
06/09/2022Enjoyed the mystery, Louis. Nice twist at the end. Happy storystar day. Jerry
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
JD
06/08/2022That was a great crime fiction whodunnit and how to prove it story, Louis. I really enjoyed it. Can't help but wonder how many murders go unproven because the criminal outwits everyone, and there is no victim to tell the story.... Thanks for sharing your short stories on Storystar and Happy short story STAR of the day to you.
Reply
COMMENTS (5)